


Bereavement At It's Finest

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Character Death, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2007270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ms. Hudson comes home from a checkup with bad news of some new found cancer. That's when it hits Sherlock and John that they will have to get jobs that they're actually paid for because Ms Hudson will no longer be there to support them. When Sherlock goes to Lestrade to ask for a salary for his consulting, and John goes to the local doctor office for the new doctor's position, will they be able to work through their grief of losing Ms. Hudson without going completely mad on each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bereavement At It's Finest

     Sherlock woke up from his rest with his thoughts in some form of a flustered blur. The room had the same apprehensive feeling to it as when he had fallen asleep. He took note of this as he opened his eyes. His rest being just as disorderly as his thoughts had been the previous night. It was nights like this that he had dreaded the most about having a more advanced mind, but having those resentments quickly disregarded as the benefits outweighed the "consequences" of lack of sleep, as if he needed it anyways. He sat up and let his eyes adjust to everything in the room, looking around to check if anything had been tampered with, moved, or if anyone was in the room. When all seemed clear he stepped out of the covers and onto the floor looking around the room with a sigh. Why was it that every single morning there was just a silence that filled the air. There was no curiosity, no exhilaration or exuberance, it was all just silence. Not the good kind, either, like when he and John would sit around and just enjoy a nice read in each other's company. It was the uncomfortable kind of silence that Sherlock despised. This silence was anything but inviting and he did anything to stop it from bothering him, including getting his robe on and going out into the living room where, as usual, no one occupied yet.

     He sat down taking his usual spot at the desk. This was possibly the only time he had to himself without any distraction whatsoever. Sure, John knew to stay out of his way most of the time while he was working, but he always had to deal with John thinking and going about his daily business and it was just distracting. Even when John would just sit down and read a novel quietly, Sherlock could hear his leg bouncing as if it were a shotgun shooting blanks at the floor, and his thoughts twisting and turning as he connected certain plot lines in the book just like Sherlock did when connecting points to a case. Not to mention the audible reactions earned from John when something exciting or appaling happens in the book, even though it is notable the way the edges of his lips curl up in surprise and his voice lets out a small noise of laughter or some other form of amusement. Sherlock's eyes wondered around the desktop aimlessly until his gaze met a certain file for a case he had been working on. He allowed his fingertips to just graze over the rough textured surface of the folder before he whisked it open revealing the contents. This case wasn't really anything Sherlock hadn't seen before. The only things that were different were the the contents of the file, which had been the contact information to a couple of witnesses, the family information, details of the crime scene, and the autopsy report.

     The thing that frustrated Sherlock the most about this case was that he couldn't investigate the crime scene. It had been cleaned up by the time Scotland Yard even let him get wind of the case saying "they thought they had it all figured out". Sherlock almost refused the case because of it, but boredom got the best of him, as usual, and he took it on. He would quickly disregard it if another, perhaps more interesting, case were to show up. He looked down at the pictures of the crime scene that Lestrade had luckily gotten while he was actually at the crime scene and began to place them on the open space on the table. He placed the photos of the body in the middle since the body had supposedly been in the middle of the room and placed the pictures of the furniture around it accordingly. If there was one good thing about this case, it was the blood. There was enough blood on every piece of furniture to set any average person's stomach at unease. He had to suppress the slight satisfaction that he felt when looking at it. He quickly pushed away those thoughts as he pulled the autopsy report from the file and looked at it. Another internal burst of frustration surged through him as he thought of the fact that he couldn't examine the body. The corpse immediately needed to be released to the funeral home after observation because of some family tradition of having the funeral quickly after the death. Sherlock felt a slight smirk tug at his lips as he thought about someone from that family getting dismembered to an unidentifiable point and that tradition having to be broken because of the simple fact that they couldn't put the corpse back together or every piece not being able to be found.

     He pushed those thoughts from his mind. He started to think about the details of the autopsy report as he skimmed it over. He had told molly to be specific, but knowing her she would have noticed everything but what was relevant. He began to actually pay attention to detail and read it, looking down at the pictures of the body occasionally to make all of the connections and such. That's when something caught his eye. Something that didn't quite add up. He was about to examine it closer, but Ms. Hudson's voice diverted his attention. She spoke in her normally frail voice. "You're not busy, are you?"

     He simply set down the autopsy report and gestured for Ms. Hudson to sit down. She sat in John's chair and Sherlock looked up at her before smiling to himself for a little bit. He then got up and moved to his own chair that was right across from it and looked up at her. He kept the look in his eyes as open as he could despite not being that interested in the worried look on her face. She so often fussed over the littlest things that he never paid any sympathy, or even attention unless it had something to do with him. She began slowly as she looked at him in the eyes. "I know i have to go to the doctor's office, but i'm nervous... I'm growing older and weaker, and i'm afraid i may not be in as good of health as i thought."

     Sherlock let out as inaudible a sigh as he could as he rolled his eyes. He looked at her and cleared his throat. "Ms. Hudson, you're going to be just fine. This is simply a check-up."

     She looked at him and gave him a simple nod to tell him she has heard what he said. He looked at her keeping his gaze in the air asking if there was anything else she wanted without having to actually speak. She just cleared her throat and nodded while she gave sherlock a pat on the shoulder. He kind of stiffened to the touch but knew she was just being affectionate and deleted it. When she had walked out of the room, he got up and went back to his desk.

     His mind immediately going back to the case and what he had seen wrong. The cut. There's a cut along the neck on a picture of the final look of the corpse that wasn't there in the picture immediately following the death- Oh yes that's a lovely detail that was left out earlier. The killer took a couple of pictures of the dead body once he had killed the victim from an untraceable camera, and printed from an undefined location. Lestrade- much to the surprise of Sherlock- got his hands on the pictures. There's a cut on the neck in the final photo that wasn't there in the photo immediately following the death, and if you look at the close up of the cut from the autopsy, there's no bruising and no sign of any blood rushing to the area. Sherlock's eyes squinted a tiny bit as he tried to piece it together. Why would someone cut the fatal vein in the neck after the victim was clearly dead? Sherlock's thoughts steadied themselves as he took everything into consideration. There could be a couple of reasons for this. Wanting to make sure they were dead, framing, accidental- although the cut's too precise and deep for that. He quickly deleted the last thought and looked at all of the paperwork going through his own situations. He wrote on a piece of paper to remind himself to talk to everyone involved in the case. He placed the paper in the file and looked at all of the pictures again. He was lost in thought about the cut when he heard John's voice. He didn't turn his head from what he was doing, but all of his attention was on John as he spoke. "Mornin, Sherlock. You're always in that seat in the morning, arent you?''

     Sherlock replied with a grunt and made it look as if he were busy. That's when he felt John's presence behind him. John was different from everybody else. With everybody else, the only way he could tell that they were there when he wasn't paying attention was their thoughts screaming at him as he tried to think on his own. With John, there was a warmness in the air whenever he was around. It was almost like that comfortable silence Sherlock mentioned eirlier, but it wasn't. This was a warm feeling that washed over Sherlock whenever John was around. Sherlock hadn't felt it in the longest of times. Not since- He immediately stopped that thought as he closed his eyes for a small moment taking in John's lazy presence. It was obvious he had just woken up. His pajamas were still on, and his hair was a mess. Sherlock took note of the slight stagger in john's walk as he walked to the kitchen. He figured it's no use getting involved in John's morning and he began to look over the case once more

     Somewhere in between him looking at the case and John muttering to himself about god knows what, John had gone upstairs to his room to go get ready for work that day. It was like clockwork, really. Although he had no idea why John wanted to get a day Job in the first place. Case- Sherlock. You need to focus on the case. he thought to himself, his eyes wondering around the desk. That's when it hit him. This cut wasn't there by accident, or even to frame someone else. It was to throw off the cops from the real cause of death. Fumbling for the autopsy report, he looked at it and saw all of the right things he needed to see. The balance of chemicals that could only be found in one single untraceable drug that will kill you within minutes of consumption. This was clever- yes- but not clever enough. The only people that had access to this kind of drug were...

     [To: Gavin Lestrade] Arrest the gang banger brother- he did it along with a drug deal. -SH

     The case was solved just in time because about two minutes later is when he heard the door to the flat open. John had just come downstairs from getting ready and looked at Sherlock as if he would know about Ms. Hudson's sudden change in mood. She looked like she did back when Sherlock worked with her the first time, and he shot John a gaze before standing up, walking over to Ms. Hudson. He didn't show affection for anyone else, and he was sue that his small affections for Ms. Hudson were the only thing reassuring everyone that he was still human. "Ms-"

     She shook her head. "Sherlock, I can get to the chair on my own, dear." She said, her voice showing an undertone of patronization. Sherlock took a step back, eyes wide as he nodded and stood with straight posture. He just curtly led them into the living room, sitting on the couch so that Ms. H would have somewhere to sit. John sat on the chair opposite to them. She just looked around the flat, almost as if she was taking in every detail. Sherlock took note of her changed demeanor and basically everything there was possibly to detect. John leaned forward, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

     "Ms. Hudson? What's going on?" John asked, concern lacing his voice as he rested his elbow on his knee. She just looked at him a moment before a few tears made their way down her face. Sherlock thought back to her conversation with him from earlier, already knowing what she was going to say.

     "No." he said, looking at her with a tense stare. John grew slightly taken back by this because he couldn't believe Sherlock was telling Ms. Hudson not to cry- but he wasn't. He said no as a denial of what was inevitably happening. He said no almost as if saying it would stop her from saying what she was inevitably going to say. He said no to stop himself from losing another person in his life, as a desperate attempt at some kind of control over this situation. She just nodded and looked at them both, wiping her face. "It's cancer"


End file.
